


Routines and Accidents

by Anonymous



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Breastfeeding, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lactation Kink, kinkfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21568984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In the aftermath of a curse, Harry and Macy develop a routine.  Takes place in yet another one of Macy's alternate realities.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Harry finds her sitting in a low armchair hugging a thick, lavender bath towel to her chest.

“It hurts, Harry. I tried the pump again but it’s just not… And I can’t do it. It doesn’t- Harry, I _can_ _’t_.”

-

The curse had been lifted by her mother and sister and Harry, himself, had healed all her internal injuries. But this… Well, there was, quite unfortunately, nothing magical to be done about it. It wasn’t an injury or a disease. Her body had believed it needed to produce milk and so, being healthy and capable, it had. And even if a magical malady had led to the swelling of her breasts and filling of her milk ducts, the biological process of making the milk, in and of, itself wasn’t magical. So, according to all the relevant texts and knowledge of the Elders, all Macy could do was wait for nature to take its course. It had been suggested by one Elder that Macy use a mechanical pump to relieve her discomfort while she waited for the milk to dry up. And just like that, Harry had been dispatched to fetch her one.

But for the past week now, during his morning meetings with Elder Vaughn (or Marisol, as the Elder had insisted he call her) Harry's heightened whitelighter senses couldn’t help but pick up on sounds of the breast pump at work, the tick and whir of it sending Harry's mind wandering. 

He had only caught a quick glimpse of Macy’s ‘predicament’ when he had brought over the pump. She’d been in bed, her mother and sister sitting at the edge of the mattress. As Harry had handed the still boxed pump to Macy he couldn’t help but notice that the buttons of her satin top had looked just this side of strained and the unusually taut edges of the neckline had framed the soft tops of her breasts so exquisitely. Had Elder Vaug- Had _Marisol_ and her younger daughter not been there, Harry knew he would have seated himself beside Macy and implored her to let him kiss her and fill his hands with ripeness of her bosom and perhaps even offer to relieve Macy of her milk himself.

And yesterday, when Harry had stood in the Vaughn kitchen with Marisol discussing the day’s magical agenda, he’d held his hands clasped and clenched behind his back the entire time. Harry had been glad that there was the tall counter between himself and the Elder as he’d felt the first twitch of his cock against his leg. It had been the absolute wrong time to think about Macy in such a way. But he’d heard the ticking and the whirring and his thoughts had turned from what the Elder was saying to that of Macy’s breasts being worked at by the pump and the milk that no doubt was, at that very moment, spilling from her nipples. His hands had itched to feel those tightened tips of her breasts sliding between his fingers. He ached to cup her sweet palmfuls in his hands and test the heft of her flesh. To compare their new weight and shape to his sadly dimming memories of their last furtive encounter. He wondered how they would look from below, how they would move as she slowly rocked herself down over his cock. He wanted to know how sensitive her nipples were now and how much more quickly, if at all, he could elicit a gasp or his name on a groan from her using just the tip of his tongue and nothing else. Harry wanted to know if he could still make her come just from playing with her breasts and with maybe a nip or two at her neck, just as he’d done once during a quiet, summer semester lunch hour in her mother’s former office.

And that morning, while in the kitchen directly below her bedroom and hiding what was quickly becoming a rather obvious physical reaction, he’d heard Macy gasp. He’d heard it over the sounds of the pump and the through the thickness of the ceiling above. It was all Harry could do not to excuse himself from Marisol’s briefing and orb himself, right there and then, to her daughter’s room. But it had been several months since the last time Macy had elected to cast aside her armor and permit Harry even the simplest pleasure of her company over tea, much less allow herself to be touched and pleasured by him. And so, as he had done nearly every morning since their last assignation, Harry forced his thoughts away from his self-indulgent fantasies and tried once again to focus as best he could on the instructions of the Elder and his duties to the magical community at large. 

And when his meeting with the Elder was done Harry orbed himself, not to his office, but back to his condo’s bathroom. There he’d taken a hand to himself and let his thoughts run wild on all the ways he could shower his more-off-than-on-again lover’s beautiful bosom with his affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made minor corrections. Added an extra smutty line here and there. Tried to tighten up the writing, in general. But if you came for the awkwardly constructed and super unwieldy sentences, fear not! There are still plenty to be found.


	2. Chapter 2

In the here and now, Harry hears his name being called with a plaintiveness he hasn’t heard in quite some time. His body, already in some state of arousal these past few days, reacts near instantaneously. There’s no fear in her voice, but want threads thickly through her call as well as- pain? The urge to orb straight to her is damn near overwhelming. Instead he wills himself to wait until Marisol is calling out her goodbyes to him and her daughter from foyer. As she step through the front door she tosses out a last directive over her shoulder, charging Harry to make sure he get both Macy and himself to work on time. At the sound of tires crunching over gravel and pavement Harry disappears from the kitchen and appears one floor above and just inside Macy’s bedroom door. 

Across the room on a low arm chair, Macy sits wearing a small grimace and clutching a large, thick bath towel to her chest. Seeing no immediate danger Harry takes a tentative step towards her. Something crunches under his shoe and stepping back Harry identifies it as a piece of plastic belonging to some part of her pump. Scanning about he sees more pieces of plastic and tubing lying on the floor near the wall against which she must have thrown them. Harry takes a deep, if surreptitious, breath. A Macy Vaughn frustrated enough to be sending things into walls is a Macy to be, if not outright fearful of, then at very, very least very cautious around. Harry has learned this and many other things about his cool-headed charge. 

In the years he has been the Vaughn family’s whitelighter Harry has seen Macy’s frustrations bubble past the iron lid of her self-control less than a handful of times. Each time the object of her ire had met a most unexpectedly brutal end. And each time he’d watched as Macy pulled herself more tightly under that lid.

There has always been something powerfully wild and even a bit broken hiding beneath the armor of aloofness that Macy Vaughn wraps herself in. Almost as if a sea of untapped power roils just beneath the surface of her soft skin. It’s something that frightens him like nothing in his six decades of memory ever has. And he suspects it must frighten her as well, judging by the way she pulls back and isolates herself from her family, from him in the aftermath of unleashing her powers. 

But then his charge looks up at him with her wide, dark eyes and they shine in a way that takes hold of his heart in a most unexpected way. Whatever fears her powers might strike up in him, they are nothing compared to the vulnerability and goodness of her soul that she cannot hide, at least not from him.

-

“Harry?” 

Her voice is faint and unbelievably small. The normally composed, somewhat forbidding scientist who keeps a cool distance from all but her mother is nowhere to be seen. Instead, before him is a woman he has seen so rarely in the past few months. A woman he cares so deeply for, despite protocols and tradition and any sense of self-preservation. This is the woman that would stroke his hair and lay kisses against his back when she thought he’d fallen into a post-coital sleep. This is the woman whose sad eyes he’s caught staring at him in the reflection of a glass door when she thought he couldn’t see. This is the woman that he’s been missing for so long he sometimes wonders if that summer he spent in her bed was a figment of his imagination.

But now, here she is, his Macy, looking to him for help. And she’s looking at him as if she has absolute faith that he can help her. 

His heart clenches at the sight, because beneath all that, under the cool, controlled exterior she takes such great pains to construct Harry senses that she might actually be afraid that he won’t. She is mistaken, of course. Harry knows, has known from the moment he first met her, awkward as it had been, that there is very nigh unto nothing he wouldn’t do to ease her pain. And that it has naught to do with being her whitelighter.

“Harry, please.” He nearly doesn’t catch her words as she whispers them at the floor. “They’re so full. I don’t know what else I can do.”

He crouches down before her ignoring the discomfort in his trousers that had arisen, if he’s honest, well before she had called out his name. A heady scent hangs in the air around her and as he pulls at her hands clutching the towel it rushes into his lungs. Their hands bring the cloth down from her chest and Harry notes how her bra, with its front clasp undone, hangs open and frames her chest and torso. On either side of the hanging straps and cups of lace her sodden blouse gapes, unbuttoned down to where it’s tails are still tucked into the waist of her slacks. The silk of her blouse is soaked through and the darkened fabric clings to the bared sides of her breasts. 

The letdown is recent. The perfume of it emanating from her clothes and her bared skin smells fresh and sweet. He sees the shine of the wetness anointing her skin and wonders, longs for…

“Harry?”

Her voice, soft and questioning, and hand, light on his shoulder snap him out of his stupor. His eyes drift open and he sees just how close he’s come to pressing his face against her milk wet skin. His breath flows in and out of his open mouth, dragging in the faintest hints of what she might taste like on every drag of Macy-scented air into his lungs. 

Her hand slides up from his shoulder to cup the side of his face and his eyes slide shut once more. Her fingers trace and tickle the edge of his ear before moving to skim along the line of his jaw and over his chin. She touches him with a quiet regard almost as if she is trying to learn him, as if she has never touched him like this before. He goes still, reveling in her touch, willing her to find whatever it is that will convince her to never again leave him untouched for so long.

Her thumb moves over his lip and he can’t help but pull the fleshy pad between his teeth. Can’t help but flick at it with his tongue before pursing his lips around the digit and sucking at it. His tongue presses against her thumb as he intensifies the pressure, trying to swipe at any little taste of her he can get from such a small patch of skin. He hears her gasp above him and when he looks up at her he sees her gaze is locked on his mouth. She pulls her thumb out of him and moistens his lower lip with his own saliva.

He sees so many emotions flicker across her normally stoic features and he’s hard pressed to name them all. Guilt, sadness, resignation, need and want. It’s the last ones, need and want, that settles over her.

“You- you can help me, can’t you, Harry?”

Macy’s own tongue peeks out to slowly run over her own plump lips. Oh, to be that tongue. Or to taste that tongue, to stroke it with his own in that way that draws one of his favorite sounds from deep in her throat. The side of her mouth twists and he can hear doubt begin to creep in with her next words.

“Oh god, Harry, I’m so sorry. I can’t ask you-”

“Yes. Yes you can. Ask me, Macy.”

Her hand leaves his mouth to comb lightly through his hair, nails barely skimming against his scalp. He shivers and rises up to press his face into her hand, begging silently for her to continue her ministrations.

“Anything you need of me, Macy. Anything.”

His lips suddenly feel parched again. Simultaneously, his mouth waters in anticipation as he watches her run two fingers down the slope of her breast to then circle around its dark, leaking tip. She catches a few drops of the thin, pale fluid and then reaches out to paint his parted lips. He licks the milk from his lips and a shudder runs through his entire body. He feels himself harden fully and his scrotum draw tight. Exquisite anticipation sweeps through him, though he has yet to receive permission to touch her. But he can sense her hesitation despite the heavy discomfort that is even now causing her to wince as her own arm brushes against her curves.

“ _Blast it, Macy_. **_Anything_**.” It’s a curse wrapped around prayer. She needs to tell him what she needs from him. He needs her to give him direction before he-

“Harry. Harry, please, _I need you_. Your lips, Harry. Oh god, I need you to-”

The hand in his hair tugs at him as she cups her herself and traces the shining tip over his hungry lips in a wordless plea for relief.

He’s already there, his forehead butting against the cool, inner swell of her breast, her fragrant skin almost tacky with drying milk. She’s saying his name again, pleading with him to hurry as he laves firmly at the underside of her breast. He lets the tip of his nose bump up against her just where her skin turns from tawny gold to a deep, dark umber. His wraps his lips around a the tight tip of her dark nipple and pulls.

Harry’s arms circle her hips and with a sharp tug he pulls her hard against him. Macy utters a small, wondrous cry and he feels a jet of sweet, warm milk splash against his tongue. Her hand tightens in his hair and he is lost. He laps at her breasts like a man starved. He feels one of her hands pull at the hand he has on her hip. Harry tries to twine his fingers with hers but she will not allow it. Instead Macy drags his hand and clasps it to the breast not currently occupying his ravenous lips. He slides his hand over the soft mound, teasing his palm with hard nub of her nipple. Her whimpers reach his ears and he closes his hand, squeezing and kneading until his palm fills with her milk. He answers her whimper with one of his own as the feel of her milk in his hand and filling his mouth drive him that much closer to an unknowable madness for which only his Macy holds the cure.

He’s moaning and grunting as he burrows his face into her her supple flesh. His tongue laves and massages the underside of her breast as he hollows his cheeks to draw her deeper into his mouth. He drinks and drinks until he feels her hand tugging firmly at the hair at the back of his head. He pulls away in a disappointed daze. He feels like a man dying of thirst. Thirst for her milk jetting against the roof of his mouth, for her softness filling his mouth each time he hollows his cheeks. He’s desperate for the press of her nipple against his tongue. He needs more of her. He needs _all_ of her. But then she is pulling his hand from her other breast and replaces it with her own. She pulls at her own nipple and her mouth opens on the most sensuous and obscene moan that has ever graced Harry’s ears. She’s lifting herself to his lips once again. Her flesh filling, though just barely, the palm of her narrow hand. She pulls at herself again, milk pearling at her tip. She works at her herself and begs him to hurry. He can’t help the delighted chuckle that escapes him just before he buries his face, open mouthed and still _so hungry_ against the slickened, warmth of her breast.

Macy’s cries are louder now, matching his somehow more enthusiastic, nearly manic consumption of her sweet milk. He suckles and slurps from her like a man mad with starvation. He takes his meal from her noisily, messily. His cheeks are wet and Harry shivers as rivulets of her milk run over his chin and down his neck. 

His knees shuffle him closer still to her, pressing himself as tightly to her as he can. He pushes Macy’s thighs wide to wedge himself therein.

Macy’s hands are threaded through his hair. Harry feels her fingers clench in time with every pull of his lips. Her thighs are a vice clamping against his sides and Harry groans around the softness filling his mouth as she grinds her center against his belly. 

His hand slides down from between her shoulder blades to grab roughly at her bottom. A quiver runs through her thighs and his grip tightens, fingers sinking into her plush hip. His own hips pushing him forward to rut against the cushioned front of her chair. He pushes her harder against him, earning him a stuttered cry, his name, uttered against the top of his head. 

Shuddering at the sound of his own name spilling so plaintively from her lips, Harry feels a tell tale thrill running down his back to settle impatiently at the base of his spine. 

Harry head rears back and her nipple leaves his mouth with a soft pop, a thin line of saliva caught between his lower lip and the dark, distended tip of her breast. His breaths come heavily and he takes a moment to rest his head against her breastbone, humming at the feel of her hands stroking through his hair and over his shoulders. When he lifts his head to look at her he sees her looking back at him, mouth open and eyes soft and glassy. It’s a look he’s missed so much. His chest tightens at the sight of her and he can’t help himself when the hand not slid under her arse cups her face and pulls her to him for a deep kiss.

After another kiss or two ( _not nearly enough_ ) a moan of frustration emanates from deep in Macy’s throat. Macy’s hands tug impatiently at his hair, trying to bring him back down to her aching breasts. Harry lets her pull him downward but balks at the last moment to latch his lips onto a spot he hopes he remembers correctly. Teeth graze against the taut line of her throat and every part of her spasms and clutches at Harry. Her cries rise rapidly in pitch and urgency. With one hand sliding under her arse to tease at her sex through the fabric of her trousers and the other sliding up the delicate column of her throat, Harry dips his head back to once again worry and sip at her bosom. 

Macy’s hips shift and jerk over his hand as he strums his trapped fingers as best he can over her sex’s covered folds. Her hands shake against the nape of his neck and Harry knows it’s time. He drags his blunt nails of one hand against that sensitive spot beneath her jaw just as the fingertips of his other hand stroke hard at her opening. His lips wrap tightly around a furled nipple and he pulls at her for all he’s worth. She throws her head back and a sound unlike anything he has ever heard erupts from her just before she tumbles forward onto him.

The unexpected weight of her sends Harry from his knees onto his back. The world explodes behind his eyes as she lands with a gasp astride his aching length. His hands fly to her hips as he jerks upwards against her, holding her hidden center over his cock. Macy shudders over him and the tingle in his spine becomes a roar that rushes to consume him, any chance or even thought to hold back burned away. 

Her knees splay further apart and Macy begins to rock herself over him, tentatively at first and then, at the insistent tug of his hands coupled with ground out words of encouragement she rides him faster and harder. 

“Y-yes. Macy, _yes_ \- Mmmm, that’s it.”

His hands are shaking and his whole body feels suffused with light. He knows his orgasm is just moments away. And- _oh sweet god thank you_ , Macy’s, too.

“Yes, Macy. Just like that. O-oh god, you like that. You- Look at you… _Fuck_.”

Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of her, head thrown back, breasts swaying and shining, mouth open as she pants his name with each sharp cant of her hips.

“More, Macy… Yes, that’s my girl. That’s, mmm, yes. That’s mm-my Macy.”

With one last rough and stuttering grind she’s coming, _again,_ and Harry is right there with her, groaning and whimpering loudly, fingers going white holding Macy’s trembling hips in place as he coats the insides of his underpants with cum.

For a brief moment, Macy leans heavily on hands braced against his chest before slumping bonelessly to his side. Harry reaches over and cups her flushed cheek, pulling lips to his. He drinks kiss after kiss from her soft, soft lips. He pulls away for a quick breath and finds her looking at him, her expression the softest he’s ever seen on her and suddenly words (and sentiments) Harry thought he’d long since dealt with and locked away come tumbling out of his mouth unchecked.

“Oh christ, Macy. Oh god, how I’ve missed you, my love.”


End file.
